


tetanus is the cause of all your light pollution

by alright_alright



Category: South Park
Genre: 90s cars, Attempt at Humor, Bad Jokes, Dialogue Heavy, Emotionally Constipated People, Medications, actually just one 90s car, and black mold, closet metaphors, i wish it was beta'd, it's basically only dialogue, oblivious tweek, out of college characters, rumors of asbestos, the 90s car isn't a big deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7043689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alright_alright/pseuds/alright_alright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tweek locks Craig in a closet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tetanus is the cause of all your light pollution

“Why did you do that?”  

“D-do what, man?! I didn’t do anything!”        

“Yes, you did. Don’t lie. The doors are locked. You are the only one here, besides me, and I didn’t lock it so you must have.”        

“You don’t wanna be in there anymore?” 

“No, I really don’t, Tweek. Sorry if that wasn’t evident.”

“So you would say that, that now you _want_ to come out of the closet?”

“…”

“…well?”

“Damn, dude,” He exhales. “This is shitty timing.”

“What’re you on about, Craig? It’s p-perfect timing! You’re _literally_ in a closet! Really, how much more on-time could we be?!”

“Goddammit.” Craig groans. “I hate you.”        

“Nah, you’re just, just angry. S’all.”        

“Well, I’m pretty sure there’s black mold in here, you might say I'm very unsatisfied, yes.”        

“Oh, shit, there might be…all the more reason to come out, then, hm?” 

“Good god, Tweek,” Craig groans. “Get me out of here.” 

“I don’t _have_ the key, man. Maybe, maybe you can find a way to open the door yourself, from i-inside?”        

“Fuck that, there’s no light in here. I can’t see a goddamn thing. Why don’t you have the key?” Craig asks, skeptically. Of course Tweek has the key. He’s not like that. He wouldn’t misplace a key. He’s totally lying.        

“This house hasn’t been lived in for at least twenty years! Thirty five, t-tops. Of course there’s no light in there. Can’t you just feel – _ngh_ \- your way out? I dropped the key somewhere, when we were walking around, b-back when we passed those pretty dead roses…ngh, somewhere b-back there…I don’t know, man! I’m trying to find it!” Yep. He’s totally lying. 

“I knew I should not have gone anywhere with you today,” Craig starts off. “I knew something was wrong when you drove your stupid little Gremlin home from work and said we could listen to whatever I wanted, even Meatloaf, if I just went along with you. _Just a little roadtrip,_ Craig _, don’t be antisocial,_ Craig.” Craig spits. “I really should’ve known better, especially with that antisocial comment coming from the bastard who ate a tube of toothpaste to get out of a school dance.” 

“That was, what? _Ten years_ ago, man! Shit, ten years ago…we’re _really_ old, aren’t we?” Tweek ponders on his existence briefly before he jumps into comeback mode. Because life’s too short to let your friends burn you on stupid shit you did a long time ago. “And aren’t you sick of t-talking about that yet?!” Tweek shrieks. “It wasn’t even a whole tube! It was like, like, halfway done! At _least_!” 

“You _ate_ a tube of _toothpaste_ ; don’t even try to defend it,” Craig disregards Tweek. “You were sick for a week. You had to go to the ER. I’m never going to be over that.” 

“Man, you did stupid stuff when you were fifteen, t-too.” 

“Well, I never ate a tube of toothpaste.” 

“Aren’t we just, just so incredibly proud of you? Yay! Let’s all clap our hands for Craig who reads warning labels and wears b-boring ties.” 

“Well, your philosophy certainly explains a lot of unexpected hospital trips. And an upcoming one – _shit_ , what the hell is in this closet?” 

“Asbestos, probably.” Tweek says after a few ‘calm’ seconds have gone by, biting off his nail. 

“You’re the _worst_.” Craig scowls. 

“Nah, man, you’re kind of the worst.” 

“How am I the worst? I never force you to do anything, like _stand in a fucking dangerous closet to make a point_.” 

“You made me stop using Purell.” 

“You were way too dependent on that shit; you can’t wash your fucking face with Purell. It’s not healthy.” 

“Pft, look who’s talking h-healthy from the cockroach infested c-closet. Bet you want some Purell now, h-huh?” 

“Oh, _fuck_ !” Craig screeches because he swears that there are now cockroaches crawling around on him. “Goddammit, dude, I get it, alright? It was clever, you have made your point, _very clearly_ so…let me the fuck _out of here_!” 

“You forced me to wear g-glasses, too,” Tweek contemplates before jumping into the action of searching for a very small key. “And I’m _looking_ for the key, okay?! It’s really tiny and, and there’s dirt _everywhere._ ” 

“It’s a good thing I did force you to get those, then.” Craig reminisces. “You walked into a fucking maple tree. Spilled a bucket of sap all over yourself. It was for your own good.”        

“Right! Right, man, r-right, that’s my, _ngh_ , point! So is _this!_ ” 

“See, getting lockjaw from an abandoned house doesn’t sound like it’s for my own good.” 

“No one said you’d be getting lockjaw. Did _I_ say you were g-getting lockjaw? I wouldn’t let you get lockjaw, what kind of a best friend would I be if I _w-wanted_ you to get lockjaw?” 

“Stop saying lockjaw so much! And you _told_ me to ‘ _feel my way out_ ’; the closet is full of rusty metal! I'd honestly be surprised if I didn't get lockjaw!” Craig shouts, slightly impressed at his mild outburst. Tweek doesn’t seem fazed. 

“Well, be careful, then, man! I don’t want you to get h-hurt. Do you have a, uh, a tetanus shot?” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Craig mutters. “Might have to rethink this best friends thing.” Tweek gasps. 

“Like hell!” He shouts.

“Come on, dude, can’t you find the key? There must be something else you can do to get me out.”

“I’m _looking_ for it!” Tweek shouts back, ignoring alternative options. “And it’s a Crown Victoria, okay?” Tweek admits after some time has passed, like he’s actually hurt that Craig called his car a Gremlin. 

“What?” 

“My car, _Christ_ , you don’t even _know_ what a Gremlin is.” 

“Are you actually hurt? Jesus, Tweek, get over yourself.” 

“Asshole.” Tweek murmurs, though Craig choses not to hear it.

“And don’t flaunt your nineties’ car knowledge."

"Well, it's not nineties, it's just common sense, Craig. Gremlins were only in production in the g-goddamn seventies!"

"Yeah, what you're doing right now is really unattractive.”

“Eh, it’s probably _way_ more attractive than p-pleading to a door.”

“…”

“If you knew what a Gremlin was, you’d be ashamed you said what you did.”

“…”

“...”

“Oh, _come on!_ Let me out!”

“You g-gotta let yourself out,” Tweek says. “Literally,” he seems to think about it for a while. “Because I, _ngh,_ lost the key.” He finally concludes. 

“Oh, fuck you, man.” 

“And, and metaphorically.” 

“I got that.” 

“Craig, you can c-come out of the closet when you _come out_ of the closet.” Tweek snorts at his ‘joke’ and leans against a wall by the closet door. 

“Goddammit,” Craig grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose; like if he squeezes his eyes shut, he’ll be out of this house. Right, that’ll work. “I get it.” 

“The c-closet’s a metaphor for your sexuality.” 

“I _so_ understand.” 

“You’re a gay man, f-friend.” 

“I am _so_ aware.” 

“Why don’t you come out of the closet, then? I don’t, _ngh_ , get it, man!” 

“I literally cannot. It’s locked from the outside.” 

“Metaphorically, I mean…that’s funny…I _totally_ should’ve clarified…” Tweek laughs and Craig hits his head against the door in frustration. “You should just own it, dude. You already told me! Didn’t I take it well?” 

“An hour ago, I would’ve said sure but with my current position…” 

“Hush and answer the q-question. Did I not take it well?” 

“You found out on accident,” Craig sighs. “I didn’t exactly _tell_ you.” 

“Yeah,” Tweek ponders. “You were definitely gr-great at keeping that a secret. Shouldn’t’ve left your diary out in the, uh, open, though. Not a good plan.” Tweek says, slightly sarcastically. 

“It’s not a diary, I told you,” Craig grumbles. “It’s an _information_ log.” 

“Do information logs have little l-locks on them, too? Or is that just diaries?” 

“Dammit, Tweek. It makes them more confidential.” 

“I don’t get it, though. I don’t _like_ being the only one that knows. F-freaks me out, man! What if I let it _slip_? Hate, I hate that p-pressure, dude, it’s so much pressure and I love you, man, you’re my best fr-friend, b-but I can’t physically—stably, s-soundly – keep it a secret forev–” Tweek begins hyperventilating and Craig rolls his eyes. 

“Four breaths, bud,” Tweek breathes slowly four times and Craig waits a whole lot more patiently than he would for anyone else. Especially when he’s locked in a goddamn closet Tom Cruise wouldn't even get in and Tweek was the one who did it. “Tweek, my parents aren’t like yours,” Craig says with his forehead leaning against the door. “They literally give zero fucks if I spend all my time with a psychopath in a rattrap.”        

“Are you implying,” Tweek pants through large breaths. He leans his head against the door. Craig feels the vibration and sighs. “Something?”        

“Yeah. Heavily.” 

“Your parents _are_ g-good folk, deep down,” Tweek’s voice is quieter and Craig kind of prays he’s done shrieking. “W-way down,” He mutters. “Beneath the swears. _F-far_ down. And the flipping offs. And the yelling. God, your parents are _scary_.” Tweek trails off. “I’m sure they’ve caught on by now, though. They’re not stupid, man.”        

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Craig asks, slightly offended even though he knows it’s kind of ridiculously to be.        

“Lemme rephrase that; if they give zero fucks how come you can’t tell them? You don’t even live with them anymore! Christmas and Thanksgiving are already awkward, but those are the only times you actually _have_ to see them…and, and I g-get that it’s h-hard to not be offended when they offer you turkey – _Christ_ , it’s like they make a tradition out of forgetting you’re a vegetarian, _every goddamn year_ ! You’ve only been one for eight years! How hard is it to r-remember?!” Tweek trails off and Craig figures now would be a good time to stop him, before he gets to the Milk Incident of 2007, going completely off-track. Not that Craig totally _wants_ to be on-track in this conversation but he can’t exactly afford to wait twenty more minutes in this goddamn closet.        

“You didn’t rephrase that at all,” Craig smiles slightly before turning his face into a frown. “I don’t know why I can’t tell them.”        

“S-sorry, adjustment t-takes a few days. You totally know w-why you can’t,” Tweek flinches and squeezes his eyes shut. “Can’t tell them, though.”        

“New meds?”        

“Y-yeah,” Tweek grits his teeth when his eye flinches. “But don’t change the subject, Tucker.”        

“Fine, fine,” Craig grumbles with mild frustration. “I _want_ them to care,” Craig finally mutters. “Dude, you don’t get it--- _fuck,_ I think there’s an actual rat trap in here.” Craig’s foot confirms; there is an actual rat trap in the closet.        

“Don’t step on it, _dude_!”        

“Thanks, Hindsight.” He sighs. “Shit, you have _terrible_ ideas.” The rat trap doesn’t hurt so much as it surprises but there’s no way in hell that Craig is going to touch anything he can’t see in the closet with his bare hands so he lets a rusted rattrap cling to his sneaker. “Remember when my dad sold off my video equipment?” Craig asks. Tweek does remember his friend’s video equipment. Craig had to hide his very old, very used and much loved Canon in Tweek’s house for seven months. Of course he remembers it. Craig’s dad needed some cash, neither of them knew exactly _why_ , but half broken tripods apparently sell well. Tweek is silent for some time and Craig expects his next comment to go either way; incredibly insightful or slightly uncomfortable. 

“It’s not like you’re going to mack a dude an inch from your dad’s face.” Glad to see Tweek took those new meds this week. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Craig laughs, even though he’s in a really crappy place, literally and metaphorically. 

“That camera, man, you just kept it so darn close to,” Tweek starts fumbling for words, so he pulls at his hair. That seems to help him find a couple that form a sentence. “To, uh, well, _my_ face, at least. It did get annoying, especially since you _won’t_ show me the damn footage–”       

“Told you, I’m still editing.”        

“You r-rarely share _anything_ , man.” Tweek mutters. “I mean, y’know, it would’ve been n-nice if you told at least, least _me_.” Craig doesn’t know what to say so for a while, he just doesn’t say anything.        

“I’m sorry you had to find out from my Middle School Information Log.” Is all he can come up with.        

“’S’okay,” Tweek shrugs, though it still bothers him a bit. “I forgot how melodramatic t-twelve-year-old-you was,” Tweek fumbles around in his pockets before pulling a photograph and proceeding to read from it. “ _While the r-rather boorish Clyde dined on what I can only imagine used to be e-edible, I prepared myself for god only knows what h-horrors the day had in store for me._ ”        

“Fuck, you memorized that?”        

“Nah, I took a picture of it. Keep it in my wallet…reminds me of good times…I didn’t even get the best page, though!”        

“There’s no best page. There are only bad pages.”        

“I like them. They're funny. You’re a funny guy. You ripped out a s-section near the end, though.”        

“Yeah, well, I don’t remember what it was about.” Craig lies.        

“You’re such a g-goddamn liar.”        

“I’m not.” Craig lies again.        

“Yes, you totally are! That’s okay, though, in a f-few hours, I’ll figure it out.”        

“What, with another stellar plan? ‘Cause this one worked out so great?” 

“No way you’re gonna blame this one on m-me. I didn’t l-lock you in a ‘ _fucking dangerous closet_ ’ without an okay from you, man.”        

“I think I would remember if I told you to lock me a goddamn flea-barrel.” 

“It was before you puked and passed out in Token’s, uh, backseat last weekend.” They’re both silent for a few minutes while Craig vaguely recalls the events of last weekend. 

“Oh shit.” He finally says. “Did I _really_ drink a fifth? What the fuck, Tweek, you _let_ me drink a fifth?” 

“Yeah, totally, ‘long with a c-couple of beers. You’re a hilarious drunk.” 

“Fuck,” He grumbles. “Well, I need to get out of this closet.” He resolves, for what must be the sixth time today.        

“I _know!_ ” Tweek groans. “That’s what I’m trying to, _ngh_ , help you do!”        

“But I didn’t say bring me to a fumigation-attracting house, did I?” 

“That part m-might have been my deal.” 

“I just said to lock me in a closet, didn’t I?” 

“M-might have.” 

“Tweek, your plans _are_ stupid. I don’t care if I okayed this when I was drunk, I okay a lot of things when I’m drunk! That doesn’t mean you should go through with it.”        

“You d-did way more than okay it, you practically begged me to! And I think it’s worked out, _ngh_ , w-well so far.”        

“Well? _Well?_ I’ve got a fucking rattrap on my foot, something totally crawled up my leg...I think the last time I had a tetanus shot was when I was _seventeen_ , and I cut myself on a piece of your fucking metal. Doesn't exactly spell out _well_ to me.” 

“Jesus, you’re bleeding?! I th-thought it was going o-okay, at _least…_ ” 

“Tweek, come on,” Craig groans. “Can’t you just call it quits before a bat flies in my face?”        

“Don’t be ridiculous, there a-aren’t any bats here,” Tweek mutters. “I r-really lost the key, Craig.”        

“Seriously?” Craig still doesn’t believe him. Tweek simply doesn’t lose things. He knows where everything goes. Craig would swear he had a photographic memory.        

“Yeah. That’s what I’ve been trying to t-tell you for the last twenty minutes. I don’t have the key, so you’re stuck u-unless you can find a way out.”        

“Shit,” Craig deadpans, banging his head against the wall and wanting to pace frantically but not wanting to step in another rattrap. “How do you even have a key to this place?”       

“It’s my thinking spot.”

“That wasn’t an answer to my question.”        

“Don’t worry about things you can’t ch-change. I’m gonna get you out of there, man!”        

“So you’re just going to drop the whole metaphor thing?”        

“Oh,” Tweek pauses, slides against the door with his best thinking face on. “Huh.” He continues, full of doubt. “Well, now I’m kind of, kind of…torn. Drunk Craig is r-really pushy.”        

“I’m not _that_ bad.”        

“You haven’t met yourself drunk.” Tweek scoffs.        

“You know what? I don’t care anymore.” Craig starts kicking at the door, though it barely budges.        

“Yes!” Tweek cheers, bounding to his feet.        

“You found the key?” Craig stops.        

“No, it’s just, you’re _a-actually_ listening to my part of the plan.”        

“It’s the only way out of this fucking closet, dude.” Craig continues kicking it, ears keyed into the sound of shitty plywood doors splitting. 

“But still, it’s nice when you take my advice. Maybe in, in the _f-future_ \---”        

“Oh my god, I’m _not_ playing---” He gives the door a body slam and it cracks. He can see a strip of daylight pouring in. “--escape the room---” He hits it again, with all his weight. “---with you---“ He hits it one more time and winds up tumbling to the floor in a dirty – and splintery – heap. The closet doors swing off their hinges, looking pathetic and certainly not salvageable. The shutters on the left door have split in a strange-looking, body-shaped position and the metal lock holding the two together has splintered, pushing wood out. “Again.” He sighs and rubs at his shoulder, more for sympathy so his friend can feel sorry for locking him in a closet and losing the key. Tweek rushes over to help Craig up to a sitting position.        

“Dude! Are you okay? God, I didn’t, you didn’t hurt your spleen or anything, did you?! Ah, gah, I’m sorry...where are you bleeding?”        

“’m fine, I’m fine,” He mutters. He’s not actually bleeding. “My organs are in check. I’m not actually bleeding. Damn right you’re sorry, though.” Craig looks around. The rest of the room isn’t nearly as dirty as the closet and the sunlight coming through the window is actually...nice. There are bits of furniture that have long-been abandoned and scattered newspapers lying over a dirty floor. It’s not as gross as the closet. When he looks back at Tweek, who has started rubbing his arm in a haphazardly comforting manner, he finds him grinning stupidly at him; big doped out eyes behind his hideous glasses. The light makes his friend’s hair glow in a way that he is beginning to look like an unusual sort of saint.        

“You did it, dude!” Tweek exclaims and Craig finds it so weird how proud Tweek is of him for breaking the door of a closet. “Check your pocket.” He takes the rat trap off Craig’s foot with ease while Craig responds with a slightly horrified expression. The thing is obviously filthy. That’s totally not Tweek. “Better you than a rat.” Tweek mutters. Craig gives him a frustrated and exhausted look. “What? _You_ have a sneaker. Bet you didn’t even feel it.” Despite Tweek being right, his callous attitude towards Craig’s health still hurts. Craig frowns; this isn’t normally how Tweek is, though he is an unpredictable bastard, he’s not exactly ballsy when it comes to germs or indifferent when a friend has a _fucking rattrap_ on their foot. Craig shrugs and fumbles around his coat, looking in his pockets until he feels a cold, small weight. He pulls the thing out and is immediately disappointed with himself for not assuming that he had the damn rusty old key. He frowns at his friend but is only greeted with the same awe-struck expression. “See! You had it with you the _wh-whole_ time.”        

“You,” He starts off, but stares at Tweek’s loopy expression and sighs. “When did you even put this in my pocket?” Tweek twitches slightly but his face is stuck in smile-mode. “Never mind,” Craig sighs. He stands, brushing off the remains of the door. Tweek follows him out the door of this room, what was probably a bedroom at some point. Craig gives the room a once over and shakes his head. “Why did you bring me _here_? Why not the apartment?” Tweek shrugs and heads out the hallway to the front door. Craig watches him walk and is slow to catch up. He meets him on the porch, Tweek shuts the door and puts his hand out to Craig, expectantly. “What?”

“You got the key?” Craig gives him a look.

“The key to the closet is the key to the house? What the fuck, whose house is like that?” Tweek shrugs again and Craig begrudgingly gives him the key. “Why are you even bothering to lock it? The windows are all busted.” 

“It’s okay, man.”

“That was not an answer.”

“S-sometimes, there is no answer,” Tweek says exasperatedly. They head back to the car, the wind is making all the trees sound like high quality crumpling plastic bags. “If it were cozy, you wouldn’t wanna come out.” Craig sighs and frowns, looking back. The house is small, the roses are dead out front and the paint is peeling wheat. At least roses can grow there.

“I don’t think it’s that bad.” He considers. 

“A couple minutes go by and you’re a new man.” Tweek scoffs loudly. 

“Locked in total darkness for forty minutes changes a guy.” 

“I d-don’t think it’s that bad, too.” Tweek mumbles. He unlocks the car. 

“You’re too cool with everything today.” Craig frowns. 

“I locked you in a closet, you got a rattrap on your foot and you had to break your way out but you haven’t even tried to punch me and _I’m_ the one who’s too c-cool?” 

“Yeah.” Craig says bluntly. 

“I think the new meds are making me…numb?” Tweek considers. 

“I don’t think you need new meds. I don’t think you need _any_ meds.” Craig frowns. 

“Not everyone thinks sociopaths are fun, man,” Tweek opens his eyes, his face ticks to the left. “Not everyone’s like you, okay with being locked in a closet for a day.” 

“Think you wouldn’t have done it if you were off the meds, though.” 

“Probably not, not _h-here_ , at least. Who knows?” Tweek sighs and sits on the hood of his car. He pats the space next to him. “You r-really are a, uh,” Tweek looks for the right word. Craig hops on the hood, making a discomforting booming noise. “Hey, careful!” Craig grins sheepishly when Tweek shouts at him. 

“Oh come on, after today, I’m allowed to jump on the Gremlin.” 

“Fuck that, you know it’s not a Gremlin.” 

“Shouldn’t have told me there was a car called Gremlin.” 

“It’s a lot less cool than it sounds, man,” The sky fades from blue to pink to dark blue to a purple orange city glow and they sit in silence for the ten minute transition. “The new doctor, he thinks I’m less of a psycho than the others. Thinks I’m salvageable.” Tweek smiles again at Craig, while Craig frowns. Tweek, after a few minutes, lets his smile fade into a frown. 

“You’re not a psycho.” 

“Yeah, well,” Tweek scoffs. “I’m sorry I locked you in a closet.” Tweek says sincerely and quietly. 

“Okay.” Craig hums, concentrating.        

“Okay?” Tweek clarifies.        

“I wish we could see the stars.”        

“ _Ngh_ , what?”        

“You – you said that I don’t,” Craig stumbles awkwardly and sighs. “That I don’t share, so I’m sharing.” He says slowly and it still tastes wrong in his mouth.        

“Okay…” Tweek looks at him skeptically, straightening up. “Well, thank you for, uh, that?”        

“I’m not done, asshole.”        

“Oh. Okay. Go on?”        

“I wish we could see the stars because I...love the cosmos. I know I’m a cynic, more often than not, and it’s hard for me to express but space is so fucking beautiful.” Craig cringes at his own sentence and Tweek ruffles his hair, encouragingly and sloppily. 

“I know all that, man...since you were t-ten and told me I couldn’t be Spaceman because ground controllers are the only ones that d-drink coffee.” Tweek bursts out laughing. “W-we’ve been best friends for years, man. C-course I know that you love space! Never h-heard you _say_ it, though...” Tweek mutters. 

“I’m not finished sharing.” Craig says patiently.   

“Sorry. Keep on sh-sharing, man. This is fun.” 

“I like it a whole lot more now,” Craig says slowly. “When I can’t see the stars with the light pollution, the sky,” Craig continues, sighing. “Makes me sad and it reminds me of you.” Craig blurts, _finally_.        

“Me? Why me? The stars, you mean, _me?_ ” Tweek mutters, albeit incoherently, concentrating. He looks Craig in the eyes. “I don’t supernova, Craig.”        

“I know that,” He replies. “I can’t explain why. I’m not so good with words.”        

“I don’t know…those diaries are pretty cool.”        

“Tweek, they’re not diaries, I told you –“ Craig starts off but stops and looks back at his friend. “My point is that when the city lights up, it’s  – my point is –“ He starts anew, but looks at his friend, who is obviously trying to concentrate but can’t take in much of what’s being said anyway. Craig doesn’t want to say anything important. “You’re a,” Craig hesitates briefly, because he’s really not that great at sharing. “A good friend, Tweek.” 

“I’m sorry I locked you in an asbestos closet.” He says again. “’m probably g-gonna freak out about it tomorrow.”

“You wanna make it up to me?” Craig nudges Tweek after glancing back at the lone house, silhouetted.

“Course.” Tweek nudges back.

“Buy me the house.” Tweek looks over, with some bit of seriousness on his happy face and grins.

“Okay, man,” He agrees. “I’ll buy you the house.” He mutters and drums on the hood. Craig watches the silhouette of his hand moving and those little strings he keeps on his fingers flap around. He wonders what they’re for. “Craig?”        

“Yeah?”        

“I won’t tell anyone,” Tweek looks at him with eyebrows furrowed and genuinity. “Okay? I’m sorry.” Craig nods at him and looks down. 

“I know you won’t.” 

“What were you going to say, back there? About the city?”        

“Nothing.” Except that the when the _city lights are like ridiculous overcrowded chemicals; the sky is so much better when they’re gone._ Maybe he’ll actually feel okay about writing that in his Information Log.        

“You were totally gonna say something, though.” Tweek yawns, suspicion creeping out. 

“No, I wasn’t,” Craig lies. “Let’s go, yeah?” Tweek blinks at him through his green wing-tipped glasses. Not very stylish, really goddamn awful, actually, but the only ones he would wear. 

“Swear you had _something_ to say…” 

“Oh yeah? You got another fantastic way to get it out of me?” 

“Yeah.” Tweek nods. “There’s about a, uh, a fifth of vodka under the backseat. You’ll sing like a bird.” 

“You’re miserable.” But Craig grins anyway when his friend’s face twitches up into a small and genuine smile.

“Nah, you’re just angry. S’all.”


End file.
